


Too Many Mornings

by blustersquall



Series: Warden Alistair x Warden Isha Amell [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Inquisition spoilers, Sex, couples, post-Adamant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3095624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blustersquall/pseuds/blustersquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Warden Alistair Theirin rests and recovers at Skyhold after the events of Adamant, he receives a welcome visitor in the dead of night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Many Mornings

She arrived at Skyhold at the deepest, darkest part of the night. The soldiers on guard stood barely awake and huddled around a small fire at the main gates as she made her approach, leading her faithful, tired mount across the bridge.

The sound of its hooves alerted the group of men and women from their cold incensed stupor. Several grappled and groped for their weapons with clumsy, numb fingers. They stood tense, eyeing her mistrustfully, her cloaked face and the staff on her back. One, a man in his twilight years, and slight hunched was less eager to fight, though his hand rested on the hilt of his blade.

A silent warning that she understood well enough.

She came to a halt before them, several feet between herself and the small group of guards.

She smiled from beneath her cloak, despite her tiredness and the bite of the cold digging into her bones. She pushed the hood back a little so those before her could see the contours of her face slightly illuminated by their small fire. Her eyes flashed and shone green and orange in the glow of the flames and she addressed them levelly.

"I understand the Grey Warden Alistair is here." She explained to them politely. She left her staff fastened to her back, an indication that she was no threat to them and wanted them to know that.

"Yes," replied the older man. "He's recovering from the injuries he sustained in the Fade. A few more days and he said he'll start off for Weissupt."

She nodded, "were his injuries grave?" She asked him, masking the concern in her voice. Leliana had written to her and told her only that he had been injured and that the pure magic of the Fade which lingered within him and on his skin, prevented healing magic from having an effect. Apparently their Arcanist was looking into reasons why.

For the weeks she had travelled to Skyhold she had been wracked with concern. The lack of information had been irritating and Leliana's further vague details unhelpful at quelling her worry.

The man opened his mouth to respond, but paused before he uttered another word.

His eyes narrowed, and she could see defined wrinkles around them and creasing his forehead. He stared at her shrewdly, his mouth twisting into a gnarled, wary expression "Who're you to be asking after the Warden?" His question was fair, and she made a mental note to commend this man to the Inquisitor for his caution.

"My name is Isha Amell-Theirin." She told him, "I'm his wife, and a fellow Grey Warden."

"Amell?" A younger woman spoke up from behind the other guard. She was fair haired and slight, her hands showing the signs of years of bow use. An elf, but not Dalish, she had no vallaslin. "I know that name. Aren't you'-"

"Yes." Isha interjected, lowering her voice, and raising one hand, palm open in an attempt to calm any excitement. "Please, don't make a fuss. I've been travelling for some time, I understand the hour is late and that you have no real reason or proof to believe I am who I say, but I implore you to take me at my word."

She was tired, exhausted down to her core. Even her bones felt worn out - she could not remember exhaustion like it. She had barely slept since she had left him and to be so close only to be denied... it was unbearable. Her voice cracked when she breathed and she felt her throat close uncomfortably. "Please, I just want to see him." Her voice shook and the space behind her nose prickled painfully. Isha took a breath, steadying and steeling herself. "I _need_ to see him." She amended.

For several heart beats the guards looked at her and around at each other. Her horse pawed at the stones with a hoof impatiently, shook his head and chuffed quietly chewing at the bit in his mouth. Wisps of steam rose from his nostrils in the cold air.

Isha felt the tension around the guards and how it reached out to her like long snaking fingers, and her hope faltered. They weren't going to let her in. Disappointment pooled in her stomach, a sinking stone. Gripping the reins she readied herself to turn and walk back to the refugee camps about a mile away.

"Gus." The old guard told her, catching her by surprise. "My name is Gus." He cleared his throat. "Come with me, I'll take you to him." His expression was unreadable to her, but his eyes were softer on her face when he spoke. "Give your horse to Magda here, she'll see our horse master treats him well."

Warmth and gratitude swelled within Isha's chest as she handed the reins over to the elven archer. She patted the animals neck fondly as she departed.

Isha followed Gus through the gates and Magda walked behind them. The elf girl went one direction with the horse and Isha fell into step with Gus. He led her across a lower courtyard and up several flights of steps. The courtyard was lit with beacons and sconces of flame mounted on high stone walls. Well illuminated for the various patrols she could see along the battlements and around the yard traveling in pairs or threes on guard and watching for danger.

She kept her hood up, her face covered to avoid identification though no one looked at her. To them she was just another body, another traveler or pilgrim to their tired eyes, not worth noting - and she was thankful for that. It meant no questions, no one would ask about the Grey Warden sigils and her uniform.

Following Gus into the main keep, people in Inquisition colors and garb strolled about or sat at long tables in the main hall, some talking softly, others playing card games. Either on a break or getting ready to relieve someone else from duty and take their turn on watch.

She noted a mixture of Ferelden and Free Marcher heraldry on the walls and in the decorations. She had heard the Inquisitor was of the Free Marches, making the Ferelden decor choices was a little confusing to her. With Gus she passed a few scaffolding rigs set up along various walls and in other vacant rooms they walked through which were still undergoing repair.

Gus led her silently through the different corridors and the winding stairwells. His steps were quiet on the stone floor betraying a past as an assassin or hunter. Someone light on their feet and quick.

They reached a hallway on the third floor of a tower - judging by the smell, Isha is willing to guess they're above the kitchens. The walls were lined with three doors on either side. "He's recovering in the last room on the right." Gus told her frankly.

Her breath was hard to catch. He was so close now. A few meters left between them after months apart, she could barely stand it. "Thank you." She managed to say, a small smile on her lips. "Thank you--"

"Go." Snapped Gus impatiently, his face tight and a little distressed.

Isha nodded, "thank you Gus. You have no idea how much this means."

He said nothing. A faint smile flickered across his thin mouth, disappearing quickly and then he left her, returning the way they had come.

As Isha walked down the corridor her steps grew noticeably quicker the closer Alistair's door became.

She was all but running when she closed her hand around the cool, metal handle. Before she pushed the door open, she paused. She caught her breath, took several long inhales to settle her stomach and the fluttering within her chest. Her eyes were already wet with tears which she wiped away with the backs of her hand. A quick sniffle, then she cleared her throat softly and entered.

The room was small, a recovery chamber meant for the sick and injured, big enough for one person only. It light was by a few low burning candles on a small table by the bed and on a dresser. Not huge, but they had stayed in worse and more inhospitable places during their travels together. It was warm and clean, safe and sparsely furnished.

What furniture there was inside the room did not look cheaply made.

The bed was a double frame in dark wood, decorated with Orlesian carvings of lions and Andraste holding her bowl of fire. There was a - most likely - goose down duvet and several coverlets, all twisted and tangled around the limbs of the beds single occupant. Four pillows, two under his head, the other two haphazardly pushed to the edge of the vacant side. In one corner was a wash basin and stand. A dresser and chair in another. His clothes were folded untidily on the dresser, boots beside the chair. His buckler shield rested against the chair leg and Isha knew he probably had his long sword on the floor beside him, within easy reach should he need it.

Old habits, indeed, die hard.

Alistair lay on his back snoring - by the Maker she's missed the sound.

Each breath was deep, each snore a low rumble. He slept surprisingly soundly. His left arm lay above his head, strewn in one direction, the other was over his bare chest. She could see only a few of the wounds he had sustained in her absence. A large gash across his right shoulder which was stitched neatly, clearly done by a professional and not his own botch job. The wrist of his right hand was bandaged and held fast with a splint.

A minor fracture, according brief note Isha had received from Leliana.

It took all of Isha's will power not to leap onto the bed and surprise him with her presence. All of her strength not to climb under the covers fully clothed and squeeze him within her embrace until he couldn't breathe any more. To simply envelope him and surround herself with him. The ache of missing him had been agonising but she could feel it beginning to lift the longer she gazed at him.

She removed her boots and placed them neatly beside his and draped her cloak on the dresser after unfastening her staff from its harness. Her staff she leaned on the wall in one corner of the room. She stripped out of her Warden uniform, leaving it on the ground in a heap, but she retained her breeches and undershirt for warmth.

Silently and carefully she climbed into the bed beside her sleeping Warden husband and leaned against the headboard to look on him again, to reacquaint herself with his face.

Always when he slept he looked younger and untroubled, and now was no exception. His brow was not in the furrow that had become characteristic over the years. His lips were even drawn into a more relaxed expression, almost a smile - something that had been missing from his mouth in the days before their separation.

He was the same man she had left though, the newly gathered scars did not change that. Since they had first met scars had become a daily occurrence. Once they had counted up the scars on each other's naked bodies to compare (Alistair had won by a significant number and gloated endlessly about it). Judging by the fresh marks slowly healing on his skin, he now had handful. His hair was the same sandy blond colour, messy and ruffled from sleep. Noble brow, straight nose - the Theirin nose so Alistair called it. A slight cleft in his chin and dimpled lines around his mouth, his stubble had grown into a little more of a beard in their time apart too.

She traced every feature, every dip, every curve with her eyes and the ghosting touch of her fingers, relishing his image again so close and the warmth she could feel from his body on the sheets. Isha leaned over him, pressing her lips to his forehead. To touch him again, to have the sensation of his skin under her lips was too much and the tears she had been trying to keep at bay sprang into her eyes again.

She cried as she kissed his forehead, and the space between his eyebrows. She didn't care anymore, even as her tears dripped onto Alistair's face. She kissed his cheeks, the end of his nose, his eyelids. She twisted his hair around her fingers just relishing all the tiny things she had missed.

Her chest ached with a pain she had not felt so keenly in years. An agony that was both wonderful and terrible at the same time.

She felt as though her heart had swelled, grown in her chest and was trying to push through her rib cage with every hard and horrendous beat.

Beside her, Alistair stirred. He brushed his face with one hand, stifled a yawn and groaned, her ministrations dragging him unwillingly from sleep.

His eyelids flickered, she saw a brief glimpse of his honey-brown eyes and then a longer look as he opened them and stared at her, dazed.

For a heart beat or two his gaze was unfocused. Then his eyebrows lowered over his eyes and he grumbled.

"Not this dream again..." Alistair moaned covering his face with his left hand. "Please not again." He begged the air.

Isha leaned over him, brushing her lips over his ear, "it's not a dream." She spoke, gently cupping his cheek in one hand so he could feel her skin on his.

Alistair's left hand snapped to hers, his fingers immediately slipping into the spaces between her own. He squeezed her hand, pressing her palm into his cheek where she could feel his stubble. His lips brushed her palm, and she trembled a little.

His eyes looked to hers, wide, unblinking, unbelieving. Slowly, without his gaze leaving hers, Alistair rose up. The blankets fell, pooling in his lap.

Isha watched him, holding her breath.

His eyes traced the shape and features of her face, he touched his thumb to a new scar on her cheek but barely focused on it as his hand wandered further. Over her cheekbone and the bridge of her nose. He caressed the curve of her lips and her cupid's bow, and wound his fingers up into long dark tresses.

"Isha...!" She barely heard him say her name, then his lips were on hers. Crushing, needing. Hungry and desperate. Trembling in their intensity.

Familiar to her but somehow changed. He pushed his fingers further back into her loose hair, angling his head to kiss her more deeply. Something, a moan, a sigh, rumbled in his throat when she opened her mouth and slid her tongue against his.

He kissed her wantonly, noisily, heatedly. For a moment it was like kissing the young, green-horn Grey Warden she had first met ten years ago, all over again. All fumbling, shaking but eager hands, hot breath and inexperienced, unguarded passion.

Alistair breathed quickly when he broke away. His voice shuddered and he continued to lay softer more reverent kisses against her lips while his hands encircled her neck and jaw, his fingers tickled within her hair.

She couldn't recall when or how but, he had come to be kneeling astride her as he had kissed her. His forehead touched hers, and without thinking about it she brushed away the damp tear trails from his cheeks.

He suppressed his weak sobs poorly, laughing at himself, at his own foolishness when he sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"You're here," he stated, hands wandering, touching her, in the same way an artist might touch a precious sculpture. His hands strayed deliberately, gradually, softly over every curve and every swell. Recalling the woman before him and making his quaking hands remember. "You're real." He stated, breathlessly. "Maker, I thought--" he choked, "I've dreamt this a thousand times--" Alistair admitted, swallowing hard. "Spent so many mornings pretending to--" His breath trembled when he exhaled. "I missed you." He said finally, his voice thick and heavy with the weight of his words and the emotions he couldn't perfectly express.

Isha wrapped her arms around his shoulders unable to bare the space between them any longer. She buried her face into the curve of his neck and felt Alistair do the same, hiding his face within her hair. His hands traced her back, molding over her shoulder blades and her waist beneath her shirt. His calloused and weapon worn fingers familiar on her skin, causing it to tingle.

She reciprocated, clinging to his back muscles, quivering under the intensity of her shaking, heaving breaths. "I missed you so much." She cried against him. "I love you. I missed you." She told him again and again, a rhythmic mantra of naked truth because she could not think of anything else to say, and no other words could form or would be enough.

During her trip back to him she had considered all the things she would say when she was reunited with her love. She had wanted to be dignified and coherent, maybe even witty. She had hoped at least she could be one of those things. The reality was less practiced, less clever, but the rawness of their reunion, of it all, made it better.

To allow herself to be vulnerable again with the one person she trusted implicitly; it was like breathing air after being submerged underwater.

There was so much to tell him, so much to say but all of it seemed to pale in comparison now to having him within her embrace. To be able to feel each his chest expanding and contracted on his breaths, pressed against her. To know the thrum of his heart beat once again.

Alistair's body shook and his breath jerked.

Isha barely kept her sobs quiet, stifling the noise against his warm skin, filling her nose and head with his smell. The polish he used on his blade, and the old leather of the Grey Warden garb he wore. All familiar, and yet all new again.

"Look at us," Alistair laughed.

Maker, she had missed that sound!

He sat back a little, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs. "Anyone would think we hadn't seen each other for months." He chuckled.

Isha managed to laugh, to smile for what felt like the first time in years.

He kissed her again, hard and full of the feelings he could not quite articulate yet. "What are you doing here?" He asked, curling his hands and fingers behind her ears. He spoke with his lips on hers, unwilling to be parted for even a moment.

"Leliana has been keeping me informed." She explained, "there's so much I have to tell you! The Calling, Alistair, I fou--" Alistair cut her off, pressing his mouth against hers desperately. He hooked one arm around her back and maneuvered them both until she lay beneath him. He nestled one leg between hers, his knee against her inner thigh. Her arms draped up over his broad shoulders.

"Later." He informed her his hands rising up beneath her shirt pushing the material. "Much later." His mouth hovered over hers, warm, slightly yellow-brown eyes locked with flashing green. His breath tickled her lips, and she could see the heat, the want she felt reflected back at her. "Isha, I need--" Alistair dropped his temple to hers. "Please, I just need you...To _feel_ you."

His gaze was earnest, almost a plea within itself even without his words. With a small smile, Isha complied, arching her head to capture his mouth.

Insistent kisses and hot, breathy sighs intermingled. In moments Isha's shirt was on the floor and her breast band with it. He pawed at her like a man possessed, desperate to fill his hands with her, to feel her skin and remind himself of her taste.

He pushed her breeches down to her knees once they were loose, her small clothes with them, and she kicked them the rest of the way. His own bed shirt and cotton trousers joined hers on the floor seconds later. He cupped her, brushed his fingers along her heat. Too long without him, her body all but burned in reaction to his slightest touch.

He entered her slowly, kneeling over her, his arms wrapped behind her back rising her hips slightly off the bed. He buried his face into her breasts where he bit gently and suckled on the soft mounds, his velvet tongue circling one nipple before he drew it into his mouth between his lips.

Alistair dragged his fingers down her back, ignoring the twinge of pain from his healing wrist. His blunt fingernails created faint reels of pressure in her skin. It forced Isha to arch her back up and press into him.

He thrust into her slowly, fighting the desire to rush to the completion and fulfillment his body desperate sought. He wanted to reacquaint himself with her heat and the feeling of her around him, the sensation of being buried inside her.

Isha hooked her legs tightly around his hips, pushing her hands into his hair.

He followed her gestures, dragged his lips up from her breasts to her mouth, nibbling and kissing across her collarbone and up her neck as he went. He smothered the soft mewl and low moans she made, noises he had missed and that now drove him to distraction.

Her fingers dug into his muscles, she clutched him to her tightly.

"I love you," Alistair gasped, repeating the phrase in a strained whisper against her mouth with each stroke. The words fell from his lips like rain, uttered against her as if a secret, fervent prayer.

The familiarity of her was unmistakeable around him. The tightening of her muscles, the brief tingles of cold magic across her shoulders from her fingertips.

She rocked her hips, squeezed him, tangled her fingers into his hair to keep his mouth on hers. Her tongue moved roughly against his, teasing and demanding. He felt one of her hands clutch his thigh her legs locking around his hips.

Alistair growled her name barely intelligible.

He drove into her quickly, recklessly, he had missed and been without her for too long and his body ached for release.

Her sweat clung to him, their flesh slick against each other filling the room with noise when their limbs met and slapped with the force of his thrusts. When he reached his height, claimed his bliss and finally came, it was deep inside her, with spots flickering across his vision and her name rising from his throat sounding like a desperate, worshipful plea.

Alistair chased his breath and lay his sweaty brow against Isha's. She squeezed and tingled around him pleasurably but he remained embedded within her, relishing the heat and closeness they had both lacked for months.

His lips found hers and the kisses he gave were tender and careful, adoring and humble. She was back to being a delicate thing he was scared to break. Scared to lose, once more.

She stroked his hair, the back of his neck and his spine, the two of them cooling rapidly but neither of them willing to move or attempt to find a way to protect themselves from the cold that would inevitably come.

The room smelled of them, of sweat and sex and heaven. Their breaths and heartbeats the only sound they needed to hear.

Still within her, Alistair tangled his arms and legs around her rolling with her until they lay on their sides, face-to-face. She hooked one leg over his hips and he nestled closed until their noses were tip-to-tip.

Alistair sighed, his gaze fixed on her half-hooded eyes. "Maker, I missed you."

Isha smiled, "I missed you too."

"Will you still be here when I wake up tomorrow?" He asked, his voice a little raw, cracked and uncertain.

Isha curled her fingers around his ear. "Of course I will be, sweetheart."

Alistair frowned a little at the ease of her answer, despite the little twist of joy he felt to hear her refer to him in such a way once more. "Do you swear?" He implored earnestly, his brows knitting together a little, "you swear - promise me - that you will still be here when morning comes?"

"I swear," Isha assured him, wanting to assuage his understandable fears. She stroked the back of her hand down his cheek. "When you awaken, I will still be here." She soothed, kissing him. "Tomorrow morning, and the morning after and for every other morning yet to come. Nothing will take me from your side again, I swear to you."

He nuzzled her cheek and she gently snuggled against him, safe within his arms. "I like the sound of that." Alistair murmured, tracing his fingers of one hand down her back and the other fingers down over her forehead and cheek. "I love you, have I said that?"

"Yes," she smiled, pursing her lips against his fingertips. "But it's been so long I could stand to hear it few more times to remind me." Another kiss, a slow exhale and he closed his eyes. "I love you, Alistair." Isha spoke her tone barely more than a whisper.

He hummed in response. "My Isha," he sighed sleepily, "how I've missed you, my Isha."

When morning came, it was with bird song and cold sunlight piercing through the one window of his room.

The candles had burned down completely and Alistair woke groggy and sore, barely rested - but that was a sensation he was used to.

He recalled the night and for a few seconds wondered if it had simply been another dream his confused mind had conjured to taunt and hurt him.

Then, beside him, Isha stirred making his heart jerk in his chest. Her naked body was half exposed to the cold morning light as lay on her side facing away from the window.

"Go away sun." She moaned, the words slurring as she buried her face into her pillow.

Adoration bloomed in Alistair's chest, and relief swam through his veins warming him from the tips of his ears to his toes.

Not a dream.

She was here, beside him.

For too many mornings he had imagined reaching for her in the few seconds before his mind cleared and he was reminded that she was not with him.

To see her there, a sleep, a small smile on her face and the tangled long black hair littered over her face, rising and falling with her breaths...

Maker, but she _was_ beautiful. How could he have forgotten that?

He pulled the covers up over them both and tucked himself around his beloved carefully so not to pull her further from her sleep.

He kissed her shoulder, amazed how easily he fell back into old habits.

Vaguely, he wondered why she had returned to him, what news she brought. He recalled a mention of the Calling, but it's significance had paled in comparison to their reunion and rekindling.

Whatever things she had to tell him, they could keep a few more hours.

Nothing was more important to him at that moment than the feel of her within his arms, the regular rise and fall of her chest, her soft breaths.

The knowledge that she was safe with him, and she would be for many mornings to follow.


End file.
